Eventually
by Leigha Bea
Summary: A story of money, heartbreak, highly illegal activity, love of the famiglia and most importantly: Mafia!Romano. Rated M for violence, swearing, graphic sexual situations, and just an all around M: for Mature theme.
1. Chapter 1: Family Vacation?

"Marina, I'm so glad you're wearing that dress Tammy-Lyn chose for you."

My grey eyes didn't stray from the page of the romance novel nestled in my lap. I sniffed quietly and arched a thin, salon groomed brow. This was not the dress that my sorry excuse of a step-parent had chosen for the flight to Italy. My father was praising me for an act I hadn't committed; why would I waist the effort to respond? I smoothed the white skirt of my favorite little sundress. My mother had loved this dress when she was alive. The day I realized that I fit into it as snug and perfectly as she had, I was thrilled. People like us didn't wear outfits more than once unless they held sincere liking for them.

"Sweetie~" my father's wife had a southern accent that distorted the English language with softened consonants and elongated vowels. It never ceased to irritate. "That ain't quite the one I chose. The one I picked was more…feminine."

My tone was airy and every word was an _utterly_ perfect pronunciation. "It was 'she's having a girl' pink. _I_ don't require clothes that belong in baby showers."

The comment that had breezed out of my mouth wouldn't seem like an insult to the average, untrained ear; nothing more than a spoiled little rich bitch whining and putting an odd emphasis on '_I_'. However, Tammy-Lyn had picked up on the subtle and vicious behaviors of the billionaire class that she'd married into much more quickly than I'd thought her southern inbreeding would allow. My father and I knew exactly what I'd said; having been trained to both hear and arm our speaking with the sting of unsaid words since occupying the womb.

I'd just told her that, not only the three of us, but all of the staff and everyone in the gossip grapevine knew that the only reason she was still married to my father was because she'd gotten knocked up. Or so she claimed. It had been five months since she'd shared her big baby news and she should be about seven months along. Yet she didn't even have a teeny bump to show for the supposed life housed within her.

The slight mention of a baby shower had called her a lie-to-your-face, gold-digging, non-mothering, whore. You know…without saying any of the vulgar language aloud. My father really didn't care for outspoken obscenities. The heavy quiet I'd caused within the roomy cabin of our private jet was something I so thoroughly enjoyed; I allowed a small smile to curve my full lips as I turned the page of my novel. Good. I didn't want to talk with either of them.

He wouldn't be staying. Even after he'd postponed for months…my father wouldn't be spending more than one night to recover from jetlag in the same home as I. We hadn't even managed to be in the same room with one another over four times this entire year, not that this was an odd occurrence. The 'family vacation' to Italy had been pushed back repeatedly to accommodate his busy work schedule. We owned a large beach house on the coast of the Adriatic Sea just outside the city of San Marino. It would be filled to the brim with staff members paid to care for me upon my arrival. It's not as though my father hadn't already permitted a slue of random nannies to raise me up to seventeen; but somehow the thought of him deserting me yet again in Italy still managed to rankle.

I had spent every summer there alone after Momma died, always with the promise of a 'family vacation.'

It was now late October and my father's refusal to give leave this year had cost me all hopes of taking a dip in the ocean. Thinking hard about the odd feelings of long dead resentment broiling in my chest this morning; I discovered that I was more upset about missing out on my favorite salty swimming than my father leaving me behind.

As I tucked a stray dark blond curl behind my ear, I knew that my assertion was correct. Father had never once provided false pretenses for our relationship and I understood completely. What was between us was more like a…pleasant business arrangement. He showered me with expensive gifts and large bank accounts. I provided him the illusion of _The Family Man_ by performing a flawless recital of _The Saintly_ _Daughter_ around all clients and company partners that angle appealed to. I'd learned to stop spurning his neglect years ago. We respected each other and wished good things; but neither of us were terribly invested in the well being of one another.

Instead, I took out my frustrations in catty behavior toward his many wives.

We were hours away from our destination and the feeling in the closed aircraft was stiff and awkward. No other attempts to converse with me were raised, though eventually Tammy-Lyn and Father began discussing what she wear in Milan tomorrow evening. I continued reading my book.

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	2. Chapter 2: Pool Guy

I woke early. Autumn's sky was tinted the bleary blue-grey of my own irises; streaked with struggling rays of fantastical pinks, crimsons, and oranges by the weak and rising sun. The bright, beautiful hues were reflected within the churning surface of the ocean. The huge windows in my elaborately decorated bedroom provided a million-dollar-view of the Italian sea that my Momma had taught me to love. Wishing once again through my sleepy mind that the chill hadn't permeated the beach's air quite yet, I accepted the idea of taking a dip in the indoor pool located on the eastern portion of the San Marino home. I threw the heavy cream colored covers away from my body and stalked toward the large closet.

It had been stocked with the latest and most expensive designer clothing as per my instruction. Everything arranged by brand name and color pallet. Skirts and dresses dominated the left wall, tops and trousers took a small portion of the right. I wasn't much of a pants girl. The feel of a dress simply suited me. In the middle of the vast room that was my closet, an island of delectably costly shoes settled into their organized places; also shelved according to the designer's name. More than I could wear the entire visit, even if I wore three different pairs everyday.

Not that I intended to really wear more than one or two of the more favorable pairings of footwear. I wasn't going to be donning much of the clothing either. The reason I ordered this colossal waste of money was seeing the slight bulging of my father's eyes every year when he looked over the bill for my summer wardrobe. It gave me a sick, wonderful feeling of satisfaction that, even with the deep pockets he had, I could still jab him in the side with a splurging session. Albeit a heavy splurging.

What mattered to me most out of this array of expensive cloth? What drew the utter girly-girl out of my reserved and glacial behavior? What display was I prowling over to this very minute?

My collection of _unbearably_ beautiful swimwear.

It devoured the remaining space of the right wall. I had every sort of cut, style, pattern, and color that could be imagined. A host of cover-ups and wraps joined my hanging collection, as well as several varieties of expensive lotions. They helped prevent sunburn and lessened the freckles that marred my skin as a saddle across the nose and the apples of my cheeks. After every summer in San Marino, regardless of how many lotions I slathered on my pale skin, I returned to the United States with a deep red burn and a darkened set of those damnable specks. However, I could accept them. Swimming was the one and only genuine passion I allowed myself to display to others. Learned from my Momma, I was proud of my watery hobby. If skin damage was the price to continue enjoying it, I was willing to pay.

Eagerly, my eyes searched through the rack of new swimsuits until they fell upon a white two-piece. It worked its way off the wrack and into my hands as I fingered the material and hoped my father and his wife hadn't flown off just yet. He would do that odd little eye-bulge if he saw me in this…

Peeling off my nightgown and panties, I pulled the little bikini bottoms into place and admired them in the 180° mirror. I was fond of the thin little strings and bows on the side, liking the fact that nearly all of my skin continued to show. My ass was hardly covered. My body was nothing to be ashamed of. I found a deep, close to sinful pride, in the way my full bosom synched into smooth and lean contours to form my waist; which subsequently flared out into my tight hips and thighs. My legs and arms were fitly formed and correctly proportioned to my other parts. While I slid into the top (that allowed a healthy view of my breasts) I was very pleased with the suit. The material of the swimsuit was thin and clingy, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, but still had a pleasant texture.

It wasn't that prancing around like a whore drew my interest…it was more the slight defiance to any ideal my father pretended to enforce. It was childish and silly, but even somewhat demeaning ploys of rebellion helped cool the rage I kept so carefully under control. It wasn't as though my father had ever asked me to put on different clothes. Never that he allowed my defiance more than a passing thought in his mind. I wasn't rebelling against him, as a person, necessarily; but what my rich father stood for. We were an all powerful and uncharitable force of money. My father's world seemed to demand flawless and ladylike behavior from me. I denied it such docility.

Back when I'd emerged alive from puberty without the help of a decent mother figure, around fifteen, I was still foolish enough to think that someone could fill the aching and empty hole of loneliness in my soul. But I was still myself, and from force of habit buried my pain and refused to genuinely express emotion. These circumstances had led me to an almost desperate promiscuity. Feeling the greedy touch and fleeting attention of random men and sometimes women hadn't eased my pain in the slightest. It had, however, taught me to numb myself away from unpleasant things; such as the hurt I'd been trying to heal and the cacophony of emotions that battered human minds.

In the end I'd managed to accomplish two tasks with sleeping around. I no longer woke up an angry and misunderstood child every morning, rather a cold and calculating bitch. I'd also learned just what the world expected from me (a mannered shell of a person) and how to keep from playing into the role without fucking a legion of undesirables.

Padding down the hallway in my scantily clad body, I was upset with myself. Coming to Italy always roused these unwanted thoughts of introspection. There was no reason to be analyzing myself. I didn't dwell on my life very often, rather breezed through it day to day. I'd been home schooled my entire life and passed into an Ivy League collage at sixteen. I earned myself a performing arts degree with another of my Momma's shared talents: the piano. I had no need for a vocation, so I'd gotten a simple degree and didn't act on it. Or much of anything for that matter. I resolved to return to my usual aloofness for the duration of this trip.

Stopping shortly in the kitchen and frightening the poor staff, I questioned about my father's whereabouts. Apparently he and Tammy-Lyn were already gone. Ah, well. I selected a delectable looking pastry and ate it on my way to the pool. It was a bit of a walk, the house was very large.

When I pushed through the frosted glass double doors, I was surprised to see that someone was already in the room. A young man. He smiled when he saw me, which was an odd reaction from anyone but the oldest of staff members. This one was new. I'd never seen him before in my life. His hair was dark auburn with a stray curl escaping from the right side and his eyes were…his eyes were strange. They were a brand of green that struck me somehow as yellowish, flecks of brown here and there throughout. I decided it wasn't the color that made them strange. It was an odd sort of gleam that reflected the easy grin spread on his lips. It was a sense of….puckish delight in seeing me.

I didn't care for it.

"Who are you?" I demanded curtly. I didn't like it when odd people were hired. And now one was invading my sacred replacement swimming area. I wondered vaguely about the thoroughness of the background checking that went on around here.

He tilted his head confusedly, smile slipping. "Mi scusi, che cosa?[1]"

Only Italian, huh? Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I decided to ignore him for the time being. I didn't want to bother struggling through a language I hadn't spoken since last year, though I understood that he'd just asked me what I'd said. Turning my back on him I strolled easily toward the pool and climbed up rungs to the top of a diving platform.

As I gazed down, I saw that it was a lovely pool. All bright blue tiles and eerily clear water. I was sure it would be frigid, but was looking forward to it. Stretching my arms straight in front of me, palms together, I bunched the muscled of my legs in preparation of the dive. It was a well executed jump, and the water spilling over me all cold and heavy was a wonderful sensation. I resisted the urge to breath, forcing myself to stay under as I swam straight forward. Managing to make it halfway across the vast pool, I kicked toward the surface and began a smooth and basic stoke to the other side. I swam a few laps, playing through different strokes, before returning to the side of the pool.

When I got there, the pool guy was waiting with that grin firmly in place, staring down at me. "Ciao, bella. I was-ah wondering, when you asked, did you want my name? Or perhaps my title?"

Well…that was forward of him. I huffed and brushed some hair aside, feeling foolish for not having realized that he spoke English. "Neither. It's no longer relevant to me."

"Ah…that's a pity." He said, Italian accent altering the proper sound of vowels and there for the pronunciation of words.

Disregarding his comment, I pulled myself up out of the pool and stood in front of him with an arm outstretched. He slowly extended the towel that had been in his hands. I snatched it and begun drying off. I pressed the soft fabric to my face, but stopped as I realized there was a strange, acrid smell on the towel. I pulled it away from myself and cautiously began to inspect.

"My name is Lovino Vargas-"

I didn't see anything, but I felt suddenly woozy. Slowly, I raised my eyes to the man grinning at me.

"- and I head a very important _famiglia _around these parts. You are-ah going to be our guest."

I opened my mouth to shout for any nearby worker, but the man I'd mistaken for a pool boy surged forward and shoved the sharp scented towel into my face. He was stronger than I'd gathered from his thin frame and fighting against his greater strength was futile. But that didn't stop me. I kicked and bit and scratched, squirming violently and spewing muffled curses through the towel. Slowly, with a painful clouding of thoughts, my body lulled. One final unintelligible swear thrown at the strange man, I lost consciousness.

* * *

[1] "Excuse me, what?"

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	3. Chapter 3: His Fucking Cars

The first thing my body consciously registered was a chill wind breezing against my backside, causing a heavy shiver to run through me. My head felt like it was splitting open, I was still in my bikini, and I was fucking cold. I was also soar. My body had been securely tied to a solid, uncomfortable chair and the ropes used were biting into my exposed skin. _God_. My brain was throbbing with _searing_ pain. Every freakin' thought hurt. But I remained absolutely still, breathing evenly as though I were still unconscious. These people were dangerous. They were obviously more than willing to do me harm. Intelligence and objectivity is what I needed to win this battle; luckily I was a pro at detaching my emotions and thinking logically. If only I could think. Hearing the voices of who I understood to be my kidnappers, I refrained from opening my eyes in order to gather some insight into their persons.

There was one that I recognized right away, for it was shouting profanity in an all too familiar voice. "Che cazzo vuoi dire che non ha risposto?! Non so che cornuto sua figlia è andata cazzo!? Abbiamo avuto la piccola cagna per quasi otto ore![1]"

Eight hours?! I didn't catch all of what he said; my brain was still too sluggish. I knew he was talking about me though, and said eight hours. He must have hit me and physically knocked me out. Not ether or chloroform can steal your consciousness for that amount of time. I ran a mental check with my aching mind. There was a sharp pounding stronger than the rest of my headache just behind my ear. That bastard. No wonder I was hurting so badly.

"Mi dispiace fratello. Lui non risponde al telefono…[2]"

This response was met with an aggravated growl from the man who'd drugged me, removed me from my house, and (I assumed) hit me. So they were trying to call my father, huh? I may as well stop playing dead over here and tell them the truth. My thoughts were too lethargic to pick up a disadvantage in this, and I couldn't remain in this lax position any longer. My muscles were screaming their protests.

"He's not going to be answering his private phone. It's _'family vacation'_." I didn't sound as rough as I felt, and I was pleased with the smooth and confident tone I struck. They couldn't know that I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life. Nor that my legs felt like jelly and my heart was hammering so hard my aching head felt like it was going to explode with my erratic pulse. I couldn't allow them to know that I was any more effected by this situation than if I'd come against a minor inconvenience. It was all a mind game. Winning was the only option.

"So…you are-ah awake?" My hazy mind provided the name Lovino, but I didn't want to address him with any humanity.

"Clearly."

He stomped over to my seated form and raised a hand as if in preparation to strike me. I stiffened my muscles and refrained from flinching. Apparently, he didn't care for my sardonic nature. "Watch the tone," he snarled. "I don't-ah like hitting women, but don't think I won't!"

I raised my eyebrow in the go-to mask of ambiguous emotion and forced a coy curvature to grace my lips. "Oh….scary."

His hand came down across my cheek hard. It whipped my head to the left and I tasted metallic blood welling inside my cheek. I swallowed it. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me bleed, so long as I could help it.

"That was uncalled for. I am hardly resisting." I looked back to him and blinked in a jaded way.

"Listen up, you little bitch." He grabbed my chin and bent, invading my personal space to look me directly in the eye. "I am not-ah interested in this little pissing match you're trying to instigate. I am in charge here, and you _will_ respect me and mine. If you choose to disregard-ah this one and only request, I will beat you until you can't think without feeling pain." His lips were almost brushing mine and my system was slammed with adrenaline; I couldn't contain the shakes of fear. The hope that he'd miss them was smothered the moment I saw smugness reflected in his strange eyes. "Until your rich daddy answers his _fucking_ phone and agrees to pay the desired amount for your release-ah: I. Own. You."

I refused to cow to him. He was nothing but a bully and _fuck_ _it_, he was probably gonna' kill me anyway. Why not die with my pride intact? "I hate to break it to you, but my father upholds a very strict no-kidnap-negotiation policy when it comes to me. It's been in place for years. You won't extort a dime out of him with me as your only leverage."

I smiled coldly and was momentarily terrified, not of my situation, but of the truths in my statement. He wouldn't. He really wouldn't shell out a dime to foreign kidnappers. He'd rather let me die. Not because he actually had a moral obligation; simply because he didn't invest enough in me to dish out too much money. Something told me that these people were going to ask a steep price. He'd deny them and hide behind some bureaucratic nonsense. When I splurged on clothes and demanded new vehicles, my father couldn't refuse me. But…now there were people willing to put an end to the nuisance, though sometimes advantageous business ploy, that was my entire existence. My death could only be objectively viewed as an advantage. Who could deny the grieving father of a beautiful, tragically dead daughter?

"Now-ah, now! Don't sell your papa so short, veh~!" The only other man in the room, who looked suspiciously like Lovino, smiled brightly at me. The man roughly clutching my chin released me. "I am sure he would-ah pay any price in the whole-ah world to get his precious baby home safe."

"Ha!" I barked a firm laugh. "Did you forgo even a _shallow_ delve into my family?" My eyes shrewdly observed the two men before me. I believe the one I was laughing at had called the bastard brother. It was certainly plausible. The only discernable differences were the cheery man's lighter hair color and brown eyes. His curl bounced to the opposing side of his face as well. "You would have had better luck ransoming one of his fucking cars. My father loves them more than he's ever loved me."

"Such a bitter little thing…" Lovino frowned. He shook his head in a disgusted manner and moved away from me.

"Si. It is sad. Isn't it brother? So little faith in her papa…."

* * *

[1] "What the fuck do you mean he didn't answer?! Doesn't that cornuto (A person whose spouse is cheating on them. Apparently, in Lovi's part of the country it's a rough insult o_O?) know his daughter's fucking gone!? We have had the little bitch for nearly eight hours!"

[2] "I'm sorry brother. He just won't answer his phone…"

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	4. Chapter 4: Racial Slurs

I was throwing a hissy fit. I can admit it. Shit, I'll even admit that it felt good. I was finally releasing all of the nervous tension I'd been hiding with nonchalance and mocking remarks. Wriggling determinedly, I felt the seat rock with my movements and tears prick the back of my eyes as the coarse rope gouged my wrists. A gag spread my lips and left the corners of my mouth painfully stretched. Antonio, who was introduced to me as a high member of Lovino's _famiglia_, had been ordered by said Italian to gag me. He'd pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, threw it at the Spanish man, and said something about shutting me up twenty minutes into my consciousness. It was like gnawing on cologne drenched cotton and the damned Spaniard had tied the thing tight enough to split my head in half.

Nobody was here with me, or I wouldn't have displayed such frantic behavior. The two brothers and Antonio had left, I assumed their replacement was on the way. This was the first time I'd been alone since waking, and I was attempting to make the best of it. Try as I might though, a feeling of hopelessness loomed over me. I had accepted the idea of being killed by these people, but I refused to spend my last hours of life confined in a gangster's mildewing basement. Being able to put on real clothes and eating a real meal before I was forced to meet my end was all I was interested in.

I really had to pee too.

I was sick of being kept in this dark, dank, little hell hole. Three hours ago, when I awoke tied to this wretched chair, I'd been sore, scared, and grouchy. Now I was numb, hungry, and pissed off. Seriously, just what the fuck were they planning to do with me? Whoever the hell walked into this room was going to get an earful of whatever I could force out. Surely they'll catch that I'm insulting them, even if they can't hear actual words. I growled and shifted, rather violently. The chair leaned, my heart momentarily stopped and a squeaky gasp escaped me. Then… _CRASH!_

Down I went, hands securely behind the chair. I felt the concrete floor slamming my left side. My forearm and shoulder seemed to get the worst of it, I felt the gritty texture of the floor scraping my skin off. I'd hit my head again too. Dammit. I laid there quietly, my small struggle abandoned as I fought real tears that were threatening to spill. That had really hurt.

"Oh…fell down-ah, did you?" sneered the smug tone of the Italian I was so growing to loath.

I thought of all the names I'd ever heard spit at an Italian man, and then I did so. I shouted them at him through the gag the moment he squatted down into my line of sight. The words I said were, 'Motherfucking Dago, Greaseball son of a bitch! Filthy, greedy Wop!'

It came out more like, "Mupher-ng mmm-hmm ughm mm hom maf ah mm! Fm-hmm, mmm-mm hm!"

His eye twitched with annoyance and I squinted mine in preparation for another smack.

Yep…pretty sure he caught the insults.

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	5. Chapter 5: Potty Gods

He didn't hit me. He didn't make a nasty comment about ungrateful little American whores. He didn't even glare at me…at least…..no more than usual. Instead the man who'd kidnapped me, and was most likely going to dictate my death, grabbed onto the side of the chair and hauled me upright with a grunt. That twitch was all of the reaction I'd goaded from him.

We stared at each other for a moment, both objectively appraising the other. He was very different than the odd boy I'd suspected at the pool. Lovino stood over me in a beautiful charcoal colored suit, black-button down beneath and a blood red tie. By the way the blazer hugged his shoulders and nipped in at the waist it was tailored well. His face didn't hold a smile. The expression upon his notably attractive features was, for lack of a better term, grumpy. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were sharp with a glare, and the corners of his mouth turned down in an inflexible frown.

"You are-ah heavier than you look," he stated after a few more minutes of staring. He'd spent a healthy amount of time eyeing my cleavage; there was at least something on me worth looking at. I used that as armor to be sure I wasn't offended with the blatant jab at my vanity.

"It's the chair…" I argued smoothly, meeting his glower. He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a glimpse at the grin that had been plastered to his face while impersonating my pool boy. It disappeared quickly.

"Oh, really? Is that-ah so?"

"Of course." My tone was snooty despite the state of affairs in my situation. It was not lost on him. Lovino's frown deepened.

"I am-ah going to give you some instructions now. They will be followed, or you will be punished. You understand, si?"

I pursed my lips, inspecting him over again. Not having gained anything but the opinion that he was attractive and grouchy, I wondered if I had not remained as cool as I felt. Had I allowed appreciating the physical appeals of this irritating man to distract me from motives hidden within his expression? Staring a challenge into his gemstone-like gaze, I decided not. This Italian had one hell of a poker face. If he didn't want me to see his intentions, I wouldn't. I gave a curt nod to his question. Not really an agreement, but he took it as enough.

"Good girl," he grinned again; I squinted skeptically. "Listen closely: I am-ah going to untie you. You will stand up and walk beside me until we reach your room. No stupid shit," he pointed his finger at me as though I were a disobedient brat.

Or a clever dog.

I bit back a venomous comment because he had mentioned untying me. Lovino had talked about a room as well. That had potential hazard all over it…but…..my bladder was causing an ache all throughout my lower belly.

I _really _had to pee.

My current objective was a bathroom above all else. I decided to hold off on the sarcasm until I'd gotten to one. I'd start being a nuisance after I'd attended my needs. Nodding in agitated silence, I held perfectly still as he bent and untied my hands. He straightened and gave me a hard glare.

"Up," he ordered; grabbing me tightly by the elbow and yanking me off my butt. My body shrilled as it was torn from the position it'd been for hours, and my head swam with the sudden influx if circulation. It also didn't help me with the bladder situation. Lovino stood and stared at me for another minute.

"Well?" I questioned impatiently; leaning away from him as the tingles passed out of my legs.

"Don't-ah think you can play me. I don't-ah care what game you're playing, I am-ah going to win."

"Yes, yes. That's all wonderful and what not, but could we get on with this little walk of ours?"

Instead of walking, he just glared some more and tightened his grip on my arm. I started wriggling restlessly. He'd better hurry the hell up with this little analysis, or we were going to have an ugly situation.

"Come on then," he grunted and started trudging out of the dark room.

His pace was quick, but I wished it was quicker. We went through a little door walked down a narrow hallway; I had to fall behind him a bit so that we could squeeze through. Stumbling numbly after him and too focused on not peeing in my bikini, I didn't bother to take in any information about my surroundings. There was no point really. If these people were Mafia related, I wasn't ever going to escape them. My father wasn't going to pay them. I was going to die here.

I just wanted to pee first!

We tromped up a set of concrete steps and emerged through another constricted doorway. Suddenly, we were standing in a large, beautiful hallway. All rich mahogany wood with dark finish. As he led me down the corridor I saw that the furniture rivaled that in my father's San Marino home, but it was somehow more….I don't know…..it was better. The walls were an off white color that complimented the wood's finish well. Gold and dark red embellishments were scattered about. The frames for lovely paintings were all delicate gold work. An embroidered rug ran the length of the hall in a deep burgundy color, like rich red wine.

We emerged in a grand, lobby sort of thing. It was more and more like the San Marino home every second I looked at it, only less modern and more lived in. There was a huge staircase beside us and Lovino gave a sharp tug to turn me towards it. He leapt up the hardwood steps two at a time and I had difficulty keeping up. Another hall, alike very much to the first if only that its walls were deep green, stretched to either side of the stair's landing.

By this point I was shaking and shifting from side to side in the classic boogie that all of humanity's members should recognize: The Potty Dance. Lovino, obviously not a participating member of humanity, didn't register my frantic wiggles and stubbornly lead me down the left corridor. My eyes darted around searching out that one room in the house which I desperately needed to visit. And then, by the grace of the Potty Gods, there it was.

Ignoring the threat of punishment, I lurched away from him, diving into the dark cool little room and slamming the door behind me. Lovino gave a shout in Italian, and I answered him through the locked door as I hastily maneuvered to the toilet. "Sorry. I'm not trying to do any stupid shit, I swear; I just _really _had to pee dude."

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